


we cannot pretend it makes sense

by tousled



Category: DreamWorks Dragons (Cartoon), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Mention of blood, Nightmares, Tuffnut is scared of the dark, set during rtte
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23560024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tousled/pseuds/tousled
Summary: When Astrid wakes, startling up in her bed, knife in hand and heart thumping wildly in her throat, the vestiges of her dream slip away like sand between her fingers.
Relationships: Astrid Hofferson/Tuffnut Thorston
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9
Collections: HTTYD RarePair Bingo





	we cannot pretend it makes sense

**Author's Note:**

> For the HTTYD rare pair bingo 2020!! “Comfort after a nightmare.” 
> 
> Title from now I’m in it by haim. 
> 
> Norwegian angelica is a very interesting herb, it’s worth reading about. Apparently it can grow 8ft???? Or at least that’s what the internet says... It’s in a lot of stuff including gin, and at one point was thought to cure just about everything. It’s also dipped into a sugar syrup and used as cake decorations and a sweet. 
> 
> This is unbeta’d and I’ve been a bit unwell so if I’ve made any glaring mistakes please forgive me and my 4hour stint in emergency (I’m okay! Just bruised and sore from my injured leg giving way and injuring my other knee.) and let me know what they are so I can fix it! Also you’re very welcome to talk characterisation anytime with me :) I will reply when I can.

When Astrid wakes, startling up in her bed, knife in hand and heart thumping wildly in her throat, the vestiges of her dream slip away like sand between her fingers. It’s quiet, dark enough outside there’s no dragon chitter or birds calling yet; quiet except for her deep shuddering breaths breaking up the air around her. The moonlight spills her shadow long and distorted, like some kind of monster from Hel itself, out onto the floorboards of her hut. In her panic, something out of reach in her dream, something  _ wrong  _ she slipped her hand along the edge of the knife, cutting the top of her palm and it stings as she grips the knife tighter. 

She lays back down in bed, furs disturbed and cold air seeping into her cocoon of warmth. Whatever comfort that had been lingering in the smell of lavender on her pillow, the soft heirloom bear pelt is gone and Astrid only lays in bed for a few moments longer. Lighting a lantern one handed is a task she’s far too familiar with, broken wrists and cuts all too common, so it is a breeze, shining light on her medical supplies. Tentatively she releases the knife, blood smeared against the handle, and turns her hand to watch blood bead up on the edges of the cut. It isn’t too deep, but it stings like reality and for a minute Astrid stares at it, pressing against her hand to make sure it’s not part of the dream. 

She washes her hand and her knife, and dresses the cut with a herbal mixture Fishlegs cultivates and creates, wrapping it tightly in a clean bandage. It smells of angelica and pine, and something else and Astrid tucks the knot under the rest of the bandages. She sits for several moments, looking down at the stark white bandage, washed out against her skin and takes a deep breath. She gets up. 

Her clothes are folded neatly, already out for when she was supposed to wake up. She takes no extra care with her hand, stripping her bed clothes down, tucking the comfort back into her furs and buckles up belts and clasps and latches. She brushes her hair, comb catching on knot after knot and braids it clumsily, pieces falling out and loops sloppy but it’s good enough to keep it all out of her eyes. Ready she stops, a piece of mirrored glass the twins had found her, decorated with scales around the edges hanging on the wall and reflecting back a girl with dark smudges under her eyes, shadows long against her face. 

“It’s close enough to morning.” She says to her reflection. It says nothing back, but when she opens the door it is dark like it will be dark for hours. She closes the door to her hut, letting it lock behind her and watches as the breeze causes odd and unsettling shapes to reach across the boardwalk to flitter in and out and with the movement of the trees. Astrid takes a deep breath of the night sky and turns to take the path to the beach, prepared to train until dawn wakes the others. 

The smell of angelica reminds her of being three, or perhaps four, sitting in the kitchen as Uncle Finn stirred beet sugar and water over the fire, her mamma cutting stems of angelica into little Astrid-bite sized pieces. Astrid had wanted to cut it too, eyeing off a knife and Uncle Finn scooped her up, tickling her sides before she could get it. Her laughter rang out, her mamma’s joining in as she squirmed in Uncle Finn’s arms trying to tickle him back. Cheeks red, Astrid perched on his knee, holding the end of the spoon so she was far enough away from the pot and the fire, but close enough to help. It takes days, weeks, before they get to taste the crystallised fruits of their labour, but Uncle Finn sneaks them extra pieces before dinner and they giggle together as her mamma looks over at them with teasing eyes. 

Astrid hasn’t had crystallised angelica in years. She wonders if someone at the Northern Markets might sell it, or at least sugar beets. She tightens her laces before setting off down the beach to do laps and  _ stop  _ thinking. 

It is enough laps of the twenty minute circuit that Astrid’s legs are aching, or perhaps that is just residue of the breathlessness of her waking, that she notices she’s being watched. Cautious eyes are watching her from within the wave zone, a boy still in his bed clothes and shoulders tight. Astrid eases to a stop, pulling herself into some stretches that make her muscles groan. 

“Why are you up?” She asks. It is still too dark to even be thinking about morn, no blue at the edges of her sight. Tuff would sleep until the morning was rosy, pink cheeked and lazy in his sheets, if Chicken let him. 

“I heard you.” Tuff offers, and if it was another of the boys Astrid would threaten them with eating their own entrails for but it is Tuffnut. He was probably up from a nightmare too. Too scared of a million hypotheticals swirling up in that too imaginative brain of his to fall back to sleep, but too brave and proud to wake Ruff. The dark creeping in on all sides, the patterns of tree branches tapping against his window real monsters. Small and scared, and then he heard Astrid passing. 

Astrid doesn’t say  _ I’m sorry I woke you _ , or  _ I didn’t mean to be so loud,  _ or even  _ you didn’t need to follow me out here.  _ She doesn’t know what to say. She wants to tell him it’s okay, Ruff is in their hut, and the Edge is fine, and she’s  _ okay _ but he already knows that. 

“Do you want to help me build a fire?” She asks instead, and immediately he eases a little, arms drooping. It was the right thing to say. 

“We could steal wood from Snotlout’s hut, he was too lazy to put it all inside and well, finders keepers.” He grins, easy, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Astrid smiles back. 

She lets him steal the wood from Snotlout, tiptoeing around like ‘Lout wouldn’t sleep through his house burning down. They take stones from the club room’s fire pit, and pebbles washed up on the beach and a few shells and things when Tuff gets distracted. Astrid builds the fire whilst Tuff scrunches up some of Hiccup’s old drawing sheets and watches with an awe that’s completely ridiculous when Astrid lights it. They’re so used to dragons setting things on fire it almost seems surplus to know themselves, Hiccup certainly thinks so, but Astrid repeats the motion to teach Tuff anyway. She’s sure he already knows, a few too many fires than really could be Barf and Belch messing around all the time have happened in the past. 

“You hurt yourself.” Tuff says, morose, teaching for Astrid’s hand once she puts the flint away. Astrid’s bandage is dirtied and bloodied, and the smell of angelica is so strong. 

“It’s fine.” Astrid says, but she lets Tuff unwind the bandage anyway, carefully pushing the poultice back and wrapping it tighter than Astrid could with one hand. He gives her a shell, broken on one edge in a way that makes it look like an ornate knife and a little hole in the top the way some bivalves do. Astrid tucks it away with the flint. 

The fire is warm, like mama tucking soft furs around Astrid’s shoulders and promising to chase away the trolls, and it soothes some of the ache in Astrid’s muscles. Her fingers twitch, worried about how cold Tuff’s night clothes are and when she looks at him he’s already looking at her, the cheek facing the fire pink with it . 

“You alright?” Astrid asks. She means the heat of the flames, and whatever woke him in the middle of the night, and if he’s cold sitting in the dark with her. Tuff shrugs, and looks back towards the fire, towards the sea. The sky is lightening, blue around the edges, and it’s even colder than before. 

“Sometimes, it feels like you’re the only person in the world. And it’s scary, you know? Being alone.” He says, small, resolute. Astrid reaches out and touches his shoulder. He quirks an awkward smile, and Astrid gathers him up in a side hug. Tuff sinks into it, sighing. He is cold, even if one side of him piping hot to touch. 

“If you have a nightmare, you can wake me.” Astrid offers, although she thinks of the shadows in her hut and the knife under her pillow and how in her own breathlessness alone in her room she’ll be no good at anything but lying to herself. 

“No thank  _ you _ .” Tuff says, “you’ll knife me. That’s much worse than Ruff being grumpy the next morning.” 

“I won’t, I promise.” Astrid lies, more playful than she thought possible, and Tuff snorts, elbowing her in the stomach. He pushes away for a second, turning again to look at Astrid in the blue hour, and she looks at him back. 

“If you have a nightmare, you can wake me.” He says, careful. 

“I don’t have nightmares.” She replies, careful. It’s not a lie. Her dreams leave only impressions, like when you look up at a light and it leaves a purple fuzzy mark on your vision. She wakes, and she doesn’t know what it was about, it  _ could  _ be a nightmare but she is not four and Uncle Finn isn’t here to wake her up and hold her and sneak to the kitchen to steal crystallised angelica with her. So, it’s not. 

“Okay.” Tuff agrees. It was the wrong thing to say. He looks away. 

Astrid wants to say the right thing. She’s always saying the wrong thing, words too clipped, too harsh. She says the wrong thing to Hiccup all the time; she doesn’t know who she’s supposed to be for him now. He said he likes her for her, but he doesn’t particularly care for Astrid unfiltered, without his rose coloured glasses. For once, she wishes she could just say the right thing, without having to think about it. She wishes she could be enough as she is, bad dreams with a sour taste in her mouth and a cut in her palm from her own panic she won’t admit. 

“I don’t remember my dreams.” She starts. Tuff looks up from his handful of shells. He blinks. “It’s like, they’re there but then they’re gone. A ghost of a memory of having one, and the details feel clear but as soon as you try to pick at thread it all comes unraveling, lost.” 

“Astrid,” Tuff says, reaching out. This time, she lets him gather her up, resting her head against his shoulder. “it’s okay, really.” 

“Okay,” she agrees and Tuff squeezes her for a second before relaxing. Soon, the sun will come up properly, the sky lighter and lighter, and whatever ghosts of a nightmare lingering at the ends of the fire will disappear with the night time. Hiccup will be up, doing rounds with Toothless and Fishlegs will be tending his garden. Ruff will simultaneously be worried and unbothered about Tuff missing from his bed and will spend the rest of the week teasing Astrid for finding them curled up in front of the embers, adding shells to Tuff’s braids. 

It sounds like a nice way to start the day. 


End file.
